


Something Extraordinary

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Captain America (Movies), Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: F/F, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 14:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8331331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: Misty has been demoted to beat cop; her love life is on pause until she brings Mariah Stokes to justice, and then comes Colleen. And Sam. And the whole damn Avengers team.





	

Misty hated this. She hated this more than – more than – god! she hated it so much she couldn't think of fucking words. More than Manhattan humidity in August! More than runny eggs. More than watching the Celtics drop three games in a row to terrible teams. She hated it so much her hate could run a car from the Canadian border to the fucking tip of Florida.  

But sometimes you had to play the game. The shitty, fucked-up, so-mind-numblingly-painful-you-wanted-to-rip-out-your-perfectly-thick-luscious-curls-to-keep-from-fighting-everyone-in-a-five-foot-radius game. 

She had been demoted to a beat cop. Mariah Stokes had seen to that. Misty had fought for years to be a detective – and she was a damn good one at that – and Mariah had said a few words and brought Misty's whole career crumbling.  

Like that was going to stop her. Like something as small as total career derailment was going to keep Misty from putting Mariah Stokes behind bars where she belonged.  

If Misty had to start over with drunk and disorderlies, subway fondlings, and B&Es, that's exactly what she was going to do. And she was going to bring Mariah to her knees. They should've made her a meter maid if they really wanted to stop her.  

Hell, even that might not have been enough.  

But alongside Misty's righteous determination, there remained this seething rage.  

She really fucking hated this.  

"242 in progress four blocks over," her new partner, Rusty Parker said. He tossed the remains of his salted caramel fro-yo out the window of their cop car and landed it in the trash can on the corner a few yards away. He turned and winked at Misty.  

"Swish," he said, before responding to the radio dispatch.  

When Misty and Parker arrived at the scene, there was a small crowd around the action that wouldn't disperse until Misty got a little friendly with her elbows. Someone muttered police brutality under their breath, but when they saw Parker coming up behind Misty, they skedaddled. (It wasn't great that the community was fucking terrified of white cops, but Misty couldn't deny that it was useful sometimes.) 

With all the extra bodies out of the way, Misty could see a woman – Asian, medium height, auburn hair (expensively dyed, it would seem) holding a much, much larger man – white or Hispanic, heavy, 6'2 – with his arm pinned up behind his back. It was pretty obvious that he was trying to wrest free, but the way the woman had her foot against one of his ankles, any move he made would end with him on his ass.  

"Break it up," Misty ordered, putting her hand on her baton to back up her words.  

The woman pushed down on the man's arms and he fell to his knees hard.  

"Hands up," Misty said, "both of you. This is Officer Parker. I'm Detective – um -- Officer Knight. What's going on?"  

"Man, I ain't do nothing!" the man protested.  

"This lady just decided to bully poor you?" Parker asked, grinning. He pulled out his handcuffs.  

"He's a purse snatcher," one of the bystanders called out.  

The woman nodded. "He grabbed my bag." She pulled at the strap of her cobalt blue purse. It looked as expensive as her dye job. Misty didn't go in for those $3000 bags. She didn't see the difference between the knockoffs and the real deal. But this woman carried herself like she'd paid the full ticket for hers. Actually, her whole aura was moneyed. Not the slick sort you got in Midtown or the haughty type on the Upper East Side, either. It was something distinctly non-New York. Without pretension. Maybe a West Coast sort. The West Coast _before_ it went to Silicon Valley hell.  

Misty definitely didn't think the woman looked like the kind of person who fought back when someone tried to steal her purse. She wasn't fragile-looking, per se. Just not very imposing for all that she had very recently had the upper hand in a physical altercation with the guy on the ground. For one thing, she was all in white. White, close-fitting trousers, a white ribbed turtleneck, white shoes with silver platforms, little silver hoops, a white headband holding back her hair.  

Parker exchanged a dubious glance with Misty as he cuffed the guy and hauled him to his feet.  

"You have the right to remain silent," he began as he pushed him into the backseat of the patrol car.  

"Let me get this straight," Misty said to the woman. "This man grabs your bag and you hem him up like a a naughty toddler?" 

The woman scowled. "Look he started it. I finished it." 

"You just knocked him on his ass -- no mystical abilities, so science experiment gone awry?" Misty gave the woman another once over and then peeked into the back of the police vehicle at the perp. "He's gotta have 80 pounds on you." 

The woman shrugged and tossed her long hair over her shoulder. "I've learned to take care of myself," she said. She raised her chin – a stubborn sort of chin that usually came on the face of a person who didn't mind getting into an argument or two just for the sake of arguing. "You're a woman on the police force. I didn't expect _you_ to underestimate me." 

Parker, who had rejoined them at Misty's side, snorted and turned away to hide his laughing. Misty had to smile too, in spite of herself. "Touche," she said.  

The woman crossed her arms. "Can I go now?" 

"Actually, we have to take you in to get your statement." 

"What have I been doing this whole time?" the woman asked, raising her hands above her head. "This asshole tried to take my purse, I kicked his ass, and did my civic duty waiting for you guys to show up. Why is a detective even on this case? There's not a whole lot of mystery to this." 

"Hey, show some respect," Parker said, turning back around.  

Misty held up her hand. "It's fine, Parker. I'm not a detective, ma'am. Just a cop." 

"And I'm not a ma'am, officer. Just a woman running late." She smiled a smile that Misty figured probably got her her way a lot of the time.  

"What's your name?" Misty asked.  

"Colleen." She adjusted her white headband. "Colleen Wing." 

Misty frowned, trying to place that name. She peered at her so long Parker hit her shoulder.  

"Knight, what's up?" 

"The self-defense teacher?" Misty asked incredulously. What were the odds? 

"Yeah...how'd you know that?" 

"One of my friends takes your class. Claire Temple." 

Colleen's brown eyes lit up. "Yeah. Fast learner. Feisty." 

Misty grinned. "Tell me about it." She remembered the way Claire went after Shades in that cellar a few months ago.  

"Look, I'm happy to come down to the station to give a statement," Colleen said, pulling on her hair. "But I was on my way to a thing."  

Misty nodded, noting that Colleen's eyes were quite a lovely shade of brown. Very clear in the sunlight. "Why don't you come in first thing tomorrow morning?" she suggested. "We can hold this guy that long." 

"Great," Colleen said. She pulled her purse around to her front and started rooting around in its depths. "Here's my card," she said, offering a bent and slightly sticky card to Misty. "Just in case." She smiled sheepishly.  

"Just in case of what?" Misty asked.  

Colleen shrugged. "Maybe I don't show tomorrow and you have to run me down." 

Misty frowned and Colleen held up her hands. "Or maybe you'll want some private self-defense lessons. So _you_ can take on guys 80 pounds heavier than you." Her smile turned a little more playful. "Or girls 20 pounds lighter." 

Misty laughed and sized Colleen up again. "Ten pounds," she said. "At most." 

"Fifteen," Colleen countered. "But it's a good fifteen." She looked Misty up and down. "A very good fifteen." 

Misty's face went from normal body temperature to nuclear heat faster than a leather seat in the Florida sun. She had not expected _that_ _._  

Parker coughed loudly, clearly covering up a laugh again as Misty stared at Colleen with her mouth hanging open.   

Admittedly, Misty was hideously out-of-practice flirting. She hadn't even looked at another person that way since she got on this crusade to bring Mariah Stokes to justice. The last person she'd been with was Luke. Luke, who was embroiled in an intense legal battle to prove his innocence and also pretty seriously dating Claire. _What could have been_ , she sometimes thought to herself. But sometimes life gave you almosts and you just had to deal with them.  

This Colleen person was certainly the first person to remind Misty that she was a woman with needs, though.  

She was glad her dark skin could mask a blush and that she was generally pretty good with her poker face. On the inside, she was a bashful stuttering fool, but on the outside, she nodded – maybe a little curtly – and said, "We'll be in touch." 

Colleen closed her bag and leaned down to look into the police car. "See you around, asshole," she said to her would-be assailant in the back seat. She smiled up at Misty. "See you tomorrow, Detective Knight." 

*** 

"Long time no see, Mercedes," Sam said as he slipped into the diner booth a few hours later. He shrugged out of a gray leather jacket to reveal a close-fitting olive green, Air Force T-shirt. Very close-fitting. Enough for Misty to note that Sam had filled out since he'd left Harlem. She wondered how much of it was being with the Avengers and how much was from the hours he used to put into the gym after Riley died. That's where their relationship had ended. In a weight-lifting room that saw Sam more than Misty did.  

They hadn't been able to make it work after Riley. Sam had been a ghost of himself. And angry. So angry. And Misty had been working her way up the ladder at work and couldn't be there for him the way he needed. He'd broken up with her in a long email, apologized over and over that he was a disaster and couldn't do this in person, that he was moving to DC because he needed to be alone. Misty hadn't thought it was a good idea going where he didn't have a support system, but Sam was quietly one of the most stubborn people Misty had ever known. It was strange: their relationship had survived Sam's two tours in Afghanistan, but hadn't lasted two months after he came back. And of course Misty wondered if she'd done enough, been supportive enough, available enough. And the answer was always no. But last week Sam had called, said he was in New York for a wedding, and they should grab dinner.  

Misty wrinkled her nose. "No one calls me Mercedes except my mama, Sammy." 

"No one calls me Sammy, period. I'm a grown ass man." He smiled warmly, his little endearing tooth gap still as endearing as ever.  

Sam looked good -- different but good. Different than he had before Riley. There was more texture to his smile, something determined in the corners. The very worst thing had happened to him – watching his best friend, his brother die right in front of him – and he'd discovered that he was strong enough to come back even from that. His smile was open, welcoming, kind, but it was not naïve, it was not innocent.  

Or maybe Misty was reading too much into it.  

"A grown ass man, huh? And a bonafide superhero, to boot." 

Sam's eyes crinkled. "Don't say it like that." 

"Like what?" 

"Like you're one of those people that think the boys in blue can handle any and all threats and I'm just a trussed up vigilante." Sam watched Misty's reaction over the edge of his menu. 

Misty shook her head. "Putting a lot of words in my mouth, there, Sammy." 

"Okay, then what's with the face?" 

"You're a hero." 

"Say it like you're not pulling teeth and I'll believe you." 

Misty shrugged. "The stuff that I've seen the last couple months." 

"Tell me about it." 

"No, no, no. You signed up for a shit-show. When you said okey dokes to the old guy with the shield." 

"His name is Steve." 

Misty laughed. "Don't tell me you two are dating." 

"What? Because I know his first name." 

"It was the way you said it." 

"We're not dating, Merce—Misty." 

"But you want to be." 

Sam set his menu down and stared at the "Drinks" section. He wasn't answering Misty's question, which was answer enough. "I forgot how much conversations with you were like an interrogation," he muttered. 

"Sorry." 

The server came over to take their orders then and after he left, Sam said, "I like your hair like that. It looks good." 

"Thanks," Misty said. She sipped her water. "I got tired of the braids. The price to get your hair done in Harlem has gotten criminal." 

"Gentrification does that." 

"Tell me about it," Misty said. She sighed. "A lot is changing around here." 

"Yeah. I heard Pop died." 

Misty nodded. "Killed. Some gangbanger mess." 

"You get the guy that did it?" Sam asked. 

Misty shook her head. "The guy was got. Let's leave it at that." 

"Some rumors have reached my ears of vigilantes in Harlem. You got anything to do with that?" 

"Not anymore. I've – um -- I've had a little bit of a setback." She pulled out her badge. "Back to cop." 

Sam wrinkled his nose. "What happened?" 

"I did my damn job. Got on the bad side of some powerful people. You know the story." 

"Misty." Sam reached out and grabbed her hand. His fingers were rough, calloused. He stroked his thumb over her knuckles, just like he used to do when they were together. "You wanna talk about it? Drink about it?" 

Misty smiled. "I'm good, Sammy. I haven't given up just yet." 

"That's my girl." Sam brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it, his lips soft and warm. Misty was instantly transported back to the old days when things were good. Back to when they walked by the river and covetously watched dogs they couldn't own in their tiny apartments. Back to really, really, _really_ good sex and listening to each other complain and dream and joke. Back before people with bulletproof skin and massively insane anger issues roamed the earth. Back when Misty had her "Poetic Justice" braids and Sam didn't fill out a medium-sized t-shirt.  

Misty closed her eyes and sat in her lovely memories for a moment, called back to the present only when the server set her hamburger in front of her.  

Sam let her hand go.  

"Whose wedding are you here for?" she asked. "I don't think you said." 

Sam made a face. "Tony Stark and Pepper Potts." 

"You know Tony Stark. I mean, of course you know Tony. But you, like, _know_ know Tony." 

"It's not all it's cracked up to be, girl. It's far more interesting that you know me than that I know Tony." 

Misty rolled her eyes. "You have to say that. Any time someone knows someone famous, they have to play it down. It's a rule." 

"I'm literally only going because Rhodey insisted I come. And then Pepper insisted that Steve should come, which is a whole thing because Steve is somewhat indirectly responsible for Rhodey losing the use of his legs and Rhodey a little bit hates him. And Tony a lotta bit hates him on account of Bucky killing Tony's parents. And I hate Tony because he shot me in my fucking face. And everybody's pretending we can hang up our hatreds for one day while the lights twinkle and Pepper marries a guy who she is loads and loads better than." Sam grimaced. "Suffice to say, seeing you is the only good part of this trip." 

Misty laughed. "So the Avengers are a really bad soap opera. Good to know." 

Sam shook his head and bit into his burger with vigor. He groaned. "I forgot how good diner food was." 

"I forgot how much your good-food noises sounded like sex," Misty teased.  

Sam blinked in surprise. "You're not the only one who's said that to me recently," he admitted.  

"Steve?" Misty asked innocently. 

"What? No. We're not dating, Misty." 

"But you want to be," Misty said decisively. 

"Who are _you_ dating?" Sam asked. "My mama's always asking about you, you know. Wondering when you're going to get on Facebook so she can keep tabs on your boyfriends." 

"Or girlfriends," Misty said. 

Sam nodded. "Or girlfriends." 

"Not that it matters. I have neither." 

"These mean streets too mean for you?" 

Misty snorted. "I forgot how fucking corny you are, Sam." 

"You taught me if someone didn’t answer the question, they had something to hide." 

Misty scowled. "The last guy I tried to have a thing with turned out to have bulletproof skin and was a very big part of why I am now a beat cop and not a detective." 

"Bulletproof skin?" 

"Yeah. And there was a girl today." 

"Yeah?" 

"She seemed nice. She seemed normal. But, you know, I met her after she dismantled a dude twice her size. And I'm not saying your average human can't do that, but I don't know. She's probably suped up in disguise and I just don't need anyone extraordinary in my life right now." 

"I'm in your life," Sam pointed out.  

"I'm serious, Sammy." 

"Yeah," Sam said, taking one of Misty's fries. "I know." He pressed his lips together like he was trying to hold back from saying something.  

"What?" 

He shook his head. "You're going to deliberately misunderstand what I'm about to say." 

"What?" 

"Well, I did sign up for the craziness. Sort of. Steve and Nat needed help to save the whole damn planet and I helped. It's not something I could realistically say no to, but there was at least the illusion of choice. Doesn't sound like you had that with Bulletproof Bozo--" 

"Luke. Luke Cage." 

"With Luke. Or getting demoted. But Steve has made my life...better." He smiled like he couldn't help himself. Like he couldn't control the happiness on his face. "Steve brings a lot of trouble with him. I spent a stint in ocean jail. I've been shot at so many times, it's starting to feel like an everyday thing. I am more bruise than person half the time. But Steve..." Sam trailed off, sipped his water. "You're gonna say my judgment is off because I want to date him. But I guess what I'm trying to say is extraordinary people can make your life extraordinary and that's no bad thing." 

Misty fiddled with her straw, watched Sam take two more of her fries. She rolled her eyes. "Does Steve know you're this stupidly in love with him?"  

Sam snorted. "What I'd say? You were going to deliberately misconstrue my words." 

"Yeah yeah," Misty laughed. "Take a chance on love. I hear you." 

"Good. And for the record, I do not have a thing for Steve." 

"Sure, sure," Misty said grinning. 

**Author's Note:**

> I normally write the whole thing before I post, but I'm just posting this to put pressure on myself to actually write the rest of it. Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://meegansfuckingjacket.tumblr.com)about ... well ... anything. But mostly about Samsteve or Claire Temple, because they are my Marvel obsessions.


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